


Maidenhead

by neomeruru



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Cunnilingus, Emotional Threesomes, Explicit Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, Exterior Stimulation, F/M, First Time, Podrick Payne is a Sex God, TV Canon, Virginity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-08
Updated: 2014-06-08
Packaged: 2018-02-03 22:57:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1759079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neomeruru/pseuds/neomeruru
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brienne finds her virginity a burden and, since she can't have Jaime, turns to Podrick to help relieve her of it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Maidenhead

**Author's Note:**

> As someone who considers the books a separate canon from the show, I've stuck to what's been portrayed in the show and tried to divorce it from any gribbly details present in the books. If you notice any contradictions, that's why... like how poor Podrick is not 12, and is actually a sex genius. Also, this story has NO SPOILERS for the books. Read in peace, brethren.
> 
> Beta'd by Adie (ladderax), who is both fierce and kind and who made this much less of a mouthy mess than it was.
> 
> It's the ASOIAF universe, so triggers that apply to the series also apply here. It's cunts and whores all the way down, folks.

_You'll never lie with him._

Brienne tried to ignore her thoughts. She swung her hatchet into the fallen log repeatedly, shearing off chunks of firewood. _And if you do, he will not love you for it. You'll be his whore. And you won't even be good at it._

Brienne brought the hatchet down in a fury, chips of dry wood exploding around her. She covered her mouth with her hand and choked back a yell of frustration and anger. She pitied herself, and hated herself for that pity, and for her unbidden love for the Kingslayer.

Her unreturned love—for all he entrusted her with in private, he could never entrust her with his public heart.

 _And yet_. Brienne stood back from the log and ran her hand through her sweat-drenched hair. _And yet_. To a man such as Jaime, and to a woman such as herself for that matter, Valyrian steel and a suit of armor were as good as any courtship. A heroic quest was a gesture of trust as deep as any act of love. And so she lived in hope and desire, a desire she couldn't name, much less begin to abate.

Her memory of their departure from King's Landing came to mind before she could keep it down: Jaime's face as he said goodbye, his voice uncharacteristically soft. His eyes, inscrutable. She liked to imagine the words he could not say: _I love you, I desire you, I am scared when you are not at my side._

 _Come back to me, Brienne_ , Jaime said to her in her dreams. _I will be here._

_And I will be your mule among the mares_ , she thought bitterly, _the one you choose to haul wood, not to ride. The one you'd regret._

She took off her gloves and scrubbed her face with her hands. Her chastity, which had seemed like a virtue when she'd been a maid of Tarth, felt more like a burden here—here, where it seemed men and women jumped in and out of bed with each other at will, breeding both bastards and alliances. Here, where more times than she could count she'd had that virtue held at ransom, the threat of sex used as a weapon or presented as a yoke to cow her.

Here, where her chastity was so valuable that a man who barely knew her, who had taken up arms _against_ her, would sooner lose a hand than see it taken from her.

Her maidenhead was a sword hot from the forge, too dangerous to handle. Until quenched, it would only harm her.

Brienne looked over her shoulder at the campsite, illuminated by their homely fire. She could see Podrick hunched over her cloak, diligently patching a small hole she'd put in it earlier.

 _He's a good man_ , she thought, _as good as any in Westeros, and twice again as loyal_. And any man who'd survived so long in the Imp's service would be discreet.

She sighed and began to pick up the firewood she'd massacred. She felt no love for Podrick, but love seemed to be in short supply in Westeros. And where it did live, it sputtered and wavered like a candle in an open window. She loved Jaime, and she would never be his.

 _If he is even alive when I return_.

The thought made her stomach curdle. The Lannisters were not in favour anywhere but in the world they'd created for themselves, and Jaime in particular had just as many, if not more, detractors than even the late King.

The walk back to the campsite was grim. Brienne spared no noise as she crashed through the brush, stomping into the small clearing and throwing the firewood down in a jumble by the fire.

Podrick looked up from his work in alarm. "Ser?"

Brienne stood up straight and cleared her throat. "Podrick, I... I need your assistance."

The squire pulled his needle through the last stitch and bit it off with his teeth. He looked up at her, his open face guileless and unassuming. "With what, ser?"

Brienne pursed her lips and willed the colour not to come to her cheeks. "I am a maiden," she started, then paused. Reckless bravery had served her well to this point. She cleared her throat again. "...I've decided I do not want to be one any longer. If you are willing, I want you to assist me in that matter."

Podrick's hands stilled, needle in midair as he gaped at her. "Are you serious, ser?"

Brienne began to tug at the lacing of her shirt, trying to look professional as her hands fumbled with nerves. "I am. Will you assist me?"

Podrick scrambled to his feet. "Well, yes, ser, with anything. Just... are you certain? Me? Here?"

She fixed him with a glare. "Are you, or are you not, skilled in the act?"

"I am skilled, ser," he answered, quietly. His eyes were wide.

Brienne finally unknotted the lacing at her neck and pulled her shirt off, leaving just the skintight doeskin half-shirt that bound down her breasts. Gooseflesh pimpled her arms in the cool dusk air. "And you are willing?"

Podrick's mouth worked with a charming slowness, but he moved quickly to start unlacing the bodice-like ties down the sides of her undershirt. "I am, ser. Yes. Very willing."

Brienne raised her arms to allow his access. "Then you are as good a man as any."

Podrick finished unlacing the undershirt and shimmied it over her head, exposing her breasts to the night air. He let out an appreciative breath as her nipples pebbled in the cold.

His gaze made her uncomfortable, and she fought the urge to cross her arms across her chest. She cleared her throat and Podrick looked up at her again, looking a little guilty and a lot pleased with current events.

"This isn't for you," she felt the need to clarify. "I desire another."

The squire didn't rise to the insult. "Women don't come out of the woods and demand to lie with me often, ser." His gaze dropped to her breasts and he smiled warmly at them. "Though I won't ask questions if they do."

He raised a hand and, hesitating slightly, ran his fingers along her collarbone. She held her breath as his touch skimmed over the claw-shaped scars there, the divot in the bone where it had been broken once and reset poorly. His fingers alit on the hollow of her throat and then downward, slowly tracing the strong freckled ridge of her sternum.

"Well?" she prompted.

"As magnificent as the rest of you, ser," he answered, transfixed.

Brienne flushed and caught his hand, placing it squarely on her breast. "I've no need for your compliments. Less for your mockery."

He frowned, and extricated his hand only to lay both along the sides of her small breasts, cupping them so his thumbs only grazed her nipples. "I meant no mockery," he said, and leaned in to take one hard nipple in his mouth.

She gasped and stepped backwards, this time actually crossing her arms. "That's… that's… none of that, thank you."

Podrick looked at her with a question, but when she made no move to explain herself he set to undoing the lacings of his breeches. Brienne stopped him by placing a hand over his.

"This I know how to do," she muttered as she sat and started to pluck at Podrick's lacings. Eventually she'd loosened enough to expose flesh, and tugged away the fabric to uncover—

"Seven Gods," she cursed. "Are they all like that?"

Podrick looked down at himself, then met her eyes with a cheeky smile. "Yes, ser. Mostly."

Brienne exhaled, her stomach a sudden knot. "I meant, are they all so…" she gestured to the thick appendage, jutting out from Podrick's breeches before her eyes like a vulgar sculpture. A bead of clear liquid pooled at the tip.

The squire rubbed the head of his cock with a bit of pride, smearing the liquid and making it glisten in the firelight. "No, ser. The Gods blessed others with fame and power, but some of us have to make do with other gifts."

Brienne couldn't help but smile at his childlike pride. "Let me see it better," she said.

Podrick shimmied his breeches down to his knees and kneeled between her splayed legs. She reached out a finger and ran it down the length of his shaft. It was surprisingly soft, like velvet, but underneath it was rigid and unyielding. His purse hung below that, darker than the rest of him and fragile, wrinkled. Unassuming. Not nearly as frightening to her as men liked to think it was.

Emboldened, she opened her hand along the length of his shaft and ran it upwards, and at the terminus cupped her palm around the glistening head. It was slick, and fit in her hand just so; thank whomever was responsible for that, that she had also been blessed with unusual size. She stroked it gently and heard him sigh. When she looked up, his eyes were closed and a smile played upon his lips. The firelight gave him a handsome quality, the stillness of the woods rendering that captured moment divine.

At that moment he opened his eyes and met her gaze, seemingly unashamed. "I'd like to kiss you now, if that's all right."

Brienne laughed, a short shocked laugh that echoed off the trees. "I've my hand on your cock; if I didn't want you to kiss me, you'd know. Quickly."

Podrick smiled and leaned forward, pushing them both down onto the bedroll as their lips met. His kiss was soft and yielding, completely unhurried. He settled between her legs and braced himself over her, kissing her over and over until she tentatively parted her lips for him. And even then, he was not insistent; he caught her scarred upper lip in his and kissed it sweetly, and she found it was not at all difficult to follow his lead.

She opened her mouth to him and felt his tongue touch hers questioningly; she kept her surprise to herself as she returned the gesture. Podrick made a soft sound of encouragement and kissed her deeper, leaning his weight a little on her as he did.

His cock bobbed between them and she reached down to it, running her fingertips along the soft head and its crown. Podrick made another noise, this time of pleasure. Her finger traced over the tip, where it had become wet again; she wet her palm there and rubbed it along the head, causing Podrick to thrust forward into her hand.

"A-ah," he breathed, breaking the kiss. He dropped his head to her neck and kissed there, making more small breathless noises as she inexpertly explored his responsive cock.

He lay a trail of light kisses across her jaw and down her scarred neck. True to her wishes, he did not linger on her breasts but instead travelled south, exploring the ridges of her muscular torso with his lips and tongue while his hands deftly untied her breeches. He broke from her only once, to slide her breeches off with her boots and kneel between her legs, staring down at her fully naked body.

She waited for his mockery of her physique—a man's body, save for the part that counts—but none came. He slid his hands up her legs and parted her thighs as he settled between them, leaning in to place a kiss on the soft mound between her legs.

"What are you doing?" she gasped and sat up with a start, bracing herself on her hands to fix Podrick with an incredulous look.

Podrick sat back on his knees, regarding her with a confusion that did nothing to mask his earnest nature. "Using my mouth, ser."

Brienne's mouth curled downwards involuntarily. "Your mouth— on—"

Podrick ducked his head and grinned, flushing a little pink. "Yes, ser. And my tongue. On your cunt."

Brienne shook her head with thinly-veiled disgust. "What whore taught you that?"

"They didn't teach me, ser. I did it myself."

"And you've done it to many whores?"

Podrick flushed deeper, but nodded, "Yes, ser. Under Lord Tyrion—"

Brienne held up a hand. "Stop, please. I don't want to hear about the Imp, or his whores. But this act… it gives you pleasure?"

Podrick averted his eyes, "It does, ser. Not, ah…" he made a vague circular gesture around his lap, "...pleasure, but, I like it. And the... women take pleasure from it too, more than I."

Brienne nodded, steeling her resolve. The quicker she could get this nonsense over with, the better. She doubted he was telling the truth, anyway. Sex was a man's game—if he wanted to do it, he would. A man could be trusted to do as he pleased without considering the feelings of women, that much she had come to expect.

"Do it, then," she said, resting back on her elbows to watch this absurd display.

The squire smiled, but wisely kept his response to himself. Instead, he favoured his lips on her immediately, but not on her maidenhood as she'd expected—with one hand splayed comfortingly on her lower stomach, he ran his lips up her thighs and, to her near horror, inhaled deeply of the hair between her legs. She'd a mind to protest, but the way his eyes fell closed in what seemed to be a deep appreciation gave her pause. Perhaps he spoke the truth.

Brienne found herself squirming as he continued down and up the other thigh, first with bare lips and then with kisses and his tongue, nipping with gentle teeth, lavishing attention on her inner thighs as she felt a queer feeling arise in her—a creeping, heavy sensation that almost made her want to push his head away. And she might have, if it weren't for the curiosity deep in her heart, and in more secret places. She felt her cheeks warm as she realized it wasn't that she wanted him to stop, not at all.

His hand travelled lower, parting her lips with a firm touch and releasing the wetness that had been trapped there, where she suddenly knew she ached to be touched. She moved her hips against his hand, restless.

Podrick let out a kind laugh and lay his head against her thigh, his eyes mischievous and dark. His fingers traced the outside of her lips with precision, and then the inside more recklessly, but that uncalculated friction ignited her all the more. Brienne realized she'd been holding her breath, her arms trembling from propping herself up; she let it out with a groan and lowered herself back against the bedroll.

She felt rather than watched him nestle his face between her legs, felt his tongue draw a slow, wide path up her center, once, twice... a handful of times, of which she lost track. Slowly his tongue became firmer and more diligent, circling upwards and darting past the inner folds until seemingly finding its goal: a place near the top of her cunt where the flesh parted.

When his mouth captured the nub there she let out a cry and jerked her hips in surprise, but his hand on her stomach kept her in place. She heard—and felt—his appreciative moan as he pressed his face harder into that spot, tongue working in earnest as she writhed, her breath coming in short gasps as the feeling built upon itself until it had no place to go but to escape through her mouth as a continuous whine.

She felt a slight reprieve as he removed his mouth long enough to reposition his arms, but when his mouth returned she also felt the pressure of his finger circling her opening, gathering the pooling wet before slowly sliding in.

She exhaled as his finger opened her, deft and careful. His touch gave her something firm to struggle upon, and she found her hips moving of their own accord to ride his hand. When he removed his finger to replace it with two she was well and ready.

His hand worked in her as expertly as his mouth did upon her. She felt the pressure of his fingers, questing upwards inside of her, rubbing a place she'd scarce known existed and couldn't describe, just that it was wet and sensitive and yielding under his hand. And still his mouth suckled, suckled that hard nub that made her whole body feel tight and coiled beneath him.

His other hand slid across her belly until it came to rest below her navel, where he pressed in firmly. She jerked, a shout escaping her lips.

Podrick looked up at her, his whole face a smile. "All right?" he asked innocently, and Brienne was startled to find that it was all right, that it was better than all right—it was like being kissed by lightning, or kicked by a horse, if that horse's name was pleasure, and the lightning unusually benevolent.

She nodded vigorously, sensing her thoughts on the matter were too affected for much more. "Do that again," she demanded.

Podrick obliged immediately, setting himself again at her cunt with all three ministrations: his mouth suckling eagerly, his fingers inside of her pressing in and upwards, his other hand pressing down on her belly as if to meet them. The onslaught made her yelp and mewl piteously as she writhed under his touch, gasping for breath like a drowning woman.

She clasped both hands over her mouth as she felt a scream threaten to overtake her; instead she yelled into her hands as Podrick's mouth and fingers brought her to a thrashing, ecstatic completion. And yet he didn't stop as her cries abated, but lapped steadily at her cunt until she could move no more, not even to shudder.

"I… _Gods_ ," she managed breathlessly, covering her face with her hands as embarrassment crept in.

"That's not even what you asked for," Podrick teased, rising to his knees and running his hand up her flank to caress her firm rear.

"I've clearly chosen well," she replied, and looked up at him. He looked so pleased with himself that she couldn't help but smile, and they sat and smiled like fools at each other a few moments before averting their eyes.

"Will it hurt?" she asked quietly, unable to bring herself to look at him as she said it. Like a blushing maiden. Which was appropriate, truly, just embarrassing.

Podrick's gaze was sad, but not pitying. He took her hand in his. "It won't, ser. Here, look," he said as he guided their hands between them. His fingers parted the thick thatch of hair as she slid her own into the wet cleft, where her body opened eagerly.

"Oh," she exhaled. She had touched herself before, of course: furtive, dry experiments that had failed to raise any excitement. This was different. She circled the slick hole with her fingers and pressed in; slipping one finger in at first, but the second went as easily, then the third, her cunt warm and soft and responsive even under her inexpert touch. She could feel the heavy thrum of her body through the thin, sensitive flesh.

Podrick slipped his thumb under her hand, above where her fingers worked in her, running it along the ridges and folds there until she felt him encounter that sensitive nub he'd had his mouth on earlier. "A-ah," she stammered, hips kicking forward under his touch.

Podrick looked pleased. "It's good, right? It doesn't hurt at all if you take the time."

Brienne nodded vigorously, prompted into another skittish series of jerks by their intertwined hands. "It's—it's good," she whispered, breathing sharply.

He leaned in to kiss her again, unchastely. His lips were plump and wet—wet from her cunt, she realized, as the taste registered dimly in the part of her brain that was not wholly subsumed by the unique pleasure of kissing someone. She kissed back in earnest, opening her lips to his and tasting more of herself on his tongue.

He lay himself against her, his hard cock trapped between them as they kissed deeply. She clutched his shoulders, his face, anywhere she could reach so long as she could banish her fear in his kiss.

Podrick broke first, pulling back to regard her with a hard-edged curiosity. "Say his name," he whispered fiercely.

Brienne felt her face flush red hot. "N-no," she said, averting her eyes.

"Say his name," said Podrick, this time more gently. "I know who it is. I won't tell a soul."

Brienne closed her eyes and felt one hot tear spill down the side of her face. "Jaime," she breathed, and his face surfaced in her mind unbidden. She felt a firm hand cradle her face, smearing the tear away.

"Again. Say his name again."

"Jaime," she said, louder.

"Say it. Keep saying his name," he said, and his voice was low and calming, almost enough for her to forget, for her to think… to pretend...

"Jaime Lannister—!" she choked, her voice breaking as it brought a fresh battalion of stinging tears to her eyes.

She felt his other hand lift her thigh atop his, bringing his cock to rest against her cleft. She gasped as her body reacted almost of its own accord, arching her back to rub her cunt against it. _Like a pig rutting on a pole_ , she thought, letting out an involuntary whine. _The Kingslayer's whore_. "Jaime, Jaime, J-Jaime—" she whimpered, sick with desire and shame.

The hand aside her face shifted, and his thumb—salty and wet from those tears—traced her kiss-swollen lips. "Say yes, if you want it," said Podrick, though Brienne could no longer summon a vision of the squire's dark, round face.

"Yes, Ser Jaime— Podrick— please," she cried, grabbing hold of Podrick's shirt and canting her hips to capture the head of his cock in her cleft. It maneuvered easily, slick from her wetness and his saliva.

"I will," he murmured, his voice suddenly close to her ear. "Don't be afraid." She felt the head of his cock open her, sliding into her as easily as a sword to a sheath; felt his breath on her neck, hot and shuddering, as he retreated almost fully and slid in to her again, deeper, until they both groaned in unison.

It felt— it felt like— Brienne supposed it felt like _fucking_ , which meant it felt like nothing she'd ever felt before or could describe. She felt her body arch and curl with Podrick's steady rhythm as he gently stripped away her maidenhead, and was surprised at how painless it was, but that thought was fleeting in comparison to the realization of how perfectly his cock filled her, how each thrust pressed in on her in such a— pleasing—

"A-ah!" she gasped, and this time didn't cover her mouth. On each slow thrust he seemed to be even deeper in her than before, stretching and molding her virginal cunt to him like an imprint. To feel his cock move inside her was to feel her own form, and all the ways their bodies touched and moved together lit her up like dragon's fire.

She reached up to cradle his face in her hands and he turned into the touch, taking her fingers in his mouth and suckling. His talented mouth, his talented tongue, plying her fingers as they'd done her cunt; the memory made her moan, and she felt and heard him answer in kind around her fingers.

He took her hand and guided it between them, letting her touch with her slick fingers where his thick cock disappeared in her, her flesh stretching eagerly around him to accept each steady thrust. He pulled out fully to slide under her hand, letting her push it against her flesh where it ached to be touched, then plunged in again as deep as he could.

The full length of him knocked the breath from her, and she felt herself arching her back to accept him, legs tightening around his waist to keep him inside and filling her up so completely, so devotedly.

She closed her eyes tightly and hung on to his shoulders as he hitched her legs up higher, the head of his cock angling upwards to rub against that place inside of her that made her vision explode in a riot of colour and light. She was distantly aware of the increasing volume of her cries, as one is aware of the heat of the summer sun as something inevitable, uncontrollable.

Podrick's thrusts became erratic, his body growing heavy on hers until they were belly to belly, writhing together in sweat-slick unison. His teeth grazed her shoulder and held; she felt his breath come shorter and shorter, accompanied with a feral whine low in his throat.

Suddenly he jerked and pulled out of her mid-thrust, so quickly Brienne followed him upright thinking he'd injured himself. But what she saw was a marvel to her: Podrick on his knees, working his cock rigorously with one hand, the other clenched on her thigh so tightly she could feel his fingernails leave crescent-shaped indents there. She reached out a hand to— to do what, she wasn't sure, but it didn't matter; nearly as soon as she did, Podrick let out a shout and collapsed forward onto her shoulder. She snuck a look beneath his heaving form and saw his hand slow on his cock, now glistening with white, viscous fluid that spilled from his fingers and pooled on the bedroll between her legs.

"Huh," she said with a mixture of pleasure and curiosity. Podrick summoned an eloquent grunt from the crook of her shoulder, where he still was breathing heavily with an occasional low-pitched whine.

"Just… a moment, ser," he managed.

Brienne laughed, more than a little breathless herself. "By all means," she said, resting her cheek on his sweat-damp hair. She slid her hand between her legs and rubbed herself where Podrick had before, and was pleased when it responded just as eagerly to her touch.

She felt Podrick smile into her shoulder, and he peppered her collarbone and chest with wistful, tired kisses as he laid her back down again, but wasted little time in replacing her hand with his mouth. Fatigue and his own completion made him less precise, but no less skillful or enthusiastic. His tongue lapped eagerly all along her aching, hungry cunt, stopping at that bud to suckle and lick and grind it against his tongue until she writhed, and moaned, and felt a flood of pleasure take hold of her. She grew loud, far louder than a sober, rational version of herself would find appropriate—but _fuck_ rational, sober Brienne and her solemn virginity; the dark rang as loud as a sept's bells with her cries as every muscle in her body seemed to go taut and release at once, spent at last.

Podrick's head was heavy on her thigh, and they lay like that together for a few minutes as they both caught their breath. Brienne felt a laugh bubble up, and she clapped her hand over her mouth just as a giggle escaped, but it was too late. Podrick looked up at her and started to laugh as well.

"Are you all right?" he asked, though Brienne thought the stupid grin on her face was answer enough.

"I'm fine, I'm fine—just—that's it, then?"

Podrick leaned in and placed another kiss on her sodden mound, sending her into another fit of laughter as she writhed away. "That's it," he said, as even-tempered as ever. "That's all there is to it. Not so frightening, is it?"

She reached down and grabbed a hold of his hair, giving his head a good-natured shake. "I was never frightened."

"Ooooh, will it hurt?" Podrick pantomimed, his voice even higher than hers, which only caused them both to laugh harder.

"Don't be a—a _cunt_ ," she hazarded, the insult rough and unfamiliar on her tongue. Podrick wiped his mouth on her thigh and got to his knees, leaning over her to give her one more lingering kiss on the lips.

"Your secret dies with me, maiden fair," he said solemnly, but his eyes were alight with mischief. She smiled at him as he got up and started moving around the camp.

With her eyes closed, she heard the fire crackling as he put another log into it. Her body seemed to melt into the bedroll, all of her muscles heavy. Her cunt ached with new sensation, but it was a warm and languid ache, not at all the pain she'd thought to expect. It only felt… broken in, used even, but comfortably so, like a favoured pair of gloves. She reached down and caressed herself, feeling where the exertion had made her flesh plump and sensitive.

She didn't bother opening her eyes until Podrick squatted down beside her and cleared his throat. "Ser, if you'll move a little…"

She squinted at his form, silhouetted by the firelight. He held the blanket from his own bedroll under one arm, and was already gathering her own from underneath her. "That's not necessary," she said, even as she rolled over to avoid what she noticed was a large, cooling wet patch on her blanket.

Podrick didn't respond, just smiled and pulled the blanket neatly out from under her to expose the sleeping pad. He laid his blanket over her; it was warm from the fire, far softer and heavier than hers. The Imp was a generous master, it seemed.

Podrick rose to his feet and made to leave, and she lifted one side of the heavy blanket and extended an arm to him. "What kind of woman do you think I am? Come here," she said, "I'll not take your blanket and make you sleep in the cold."

Podrick looked relieved, and kicked off his ungainly boots before joining her under the blanket. His skin was cold to the touch as he turned his back to her, so she rested one arm over him, cradling the smaller man to her chest.

Brienne rested her face against his soft, dark hair. "Thank you," she said, quietly.

"It's just a blanket, ser."

"So it is," she replied, and closed her eyes.

They lay there and listened to the night for at least a quarter of an hour, the fire's spitting and popping lulling them into a meditative silence. Podrick's breathing evened and slowed so much Brienne thought he might have fallen asleep, and if they were not so visible from the road she might have nodded off herself.

"He loves you," said Podrick suddenly, jerking her out of her trance. She felt her stomach knot in that familiar heavy, lovesick way.

Brienne buried her face in his neck. "I know," she whispered.

Podrick rolled over to face her, his expression kind and unguarded. "And you are a lady, are you not? Brienne, of Tarth? It's not hopeless."

"I do not seek your counsel on this," she muttered, and disengaged from his embrace. She lay on her back and stared up at the tree canopy, at the sparks from the fire as they floated upwards and shone brightly before turning to ash.

Podrick took a deep breath and lay on his back as well, taking care not to crowd her. "I'm just saying, he'd be a lucky man to take you as a wife. Any man would."

Brienne closed her eyes and tried to imagine herself somewhere, anywhere else. Eventually she threw the blanket back and dressed herself angrily, though she knew it wasn't Podrick's fault her heart ached so deeply.

"Go to sleep. I'll stay awake," she muttered, and took a place by the fire. She picked up the cloak Podrick had been working at and turned it over in her hands. The hole had been patched so deftly and true that it was nearly invisible, and she looked over at him just to see him turn on his side away from her.

She placed the cloak back upon her shoulders and wrapped it around her, staring away from the fire into the dark, creeping night. Again her thoughts turned to Jaime, and how even if he loved her it was of no consequence. This night had made her no more of a lady, no more fit to be his wife nor his public lover. But perhaps, if they had the good fortune to meet again in this world, she would be ready for him.


End file.
